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“Flowers have dreams too, you know,” Aerith told him conspiratorially as she brushed off the imaginary dust on her skirt. It was all just for show, really — movement carefully planned to skew his attention span. Yet, Cloud fell for it every time. He stared, transfixed, at the yellow flowers she had been referring to.
“They do?” The question slipped from his lips before he could help himself. She shrugged, a smile dancing across her face.
“If they can sing, can't they dream too?”
Cloud had no definite answer. That was alright. This was all just rhetoric. He would soon blink fiercely, and find himself back on his cold, hard, bed instead of lying amongst the never-ending flower fields.
She smiled at him sadly, as if his expression revealed his innermost thoughts. “This is real.” Aerith told him, taking his hands into hers. She held them carefully, like she was afraid he would shatter into a thousand pieces if she did not exercise cautious. Cloud found this morbidly hilarious. Wasn’t he the one with the strong, muscular body, and super-SOLDIER strength?
Aerith had always been stronger than him in every sense. He once had a sinking feeling that she could outclass even Sephiroth - `Mr Mako Muscle Man’ himself - if the SOLDIER treatment was compatible with women.
“If you don’t want to be alone, why do you hide away?” She asked, gently brushing away the small tears escaping his eyes. It was alarming how Aerith always noticed, and just instinctively knew, things about Cloud. Anything he kept locked away could always be prised open by her.
And she never once took advantage of such leverage. Before anything else, she had been his best friend.
The tears kept flowing and her hands were soon hard at work. She relentlessly redirected their path. Cloud reached up with his own - now free - hands and used them to frame her face. Aerith stared at him, the same sad smile ever present.
“Do flowers cry too?” He asked.
She ceased her attempts, and allowed the tears to fall freely down his face. Cloud's face remained the same — blank and unmoving, but the tears staining his cheeks told another story. And his eyes were impossibly sombre.
“You'll find me in the next life, Cloud.” She promised.
And then Aerith fluttered out of his peripheral vision, her veins glowing green and gold, and her smile blooming. Even though she was surrounded by a garden of beauties, Aerith herself was the loveliest flower to ever exist.
In the face of such beauty, he could only close his eyes, and pray she would keep her promise.
As prophesied, Cloud sharply tumbled out of his cold, hard, bed. He could hardly remembered what had plagued his dreams last night; only that it had not been a customary nightmare, for he awoke with warmth in his heart which was seldom nowadays.
As he turned his aching body to the right, he found a blooming yellow flower tied to his nightstand. A note was attached to it, weakly fluttering amongst the chill winter breeze.
Sometimes, Cloud, all I think about is you.
The handwriting was heartbreakingly familiar, but he could not place his finger on it. He chose to pocket it anyway, placing it near his chest, so it could be close to his heart. Cloud felt the positioning was necessary.
The biting wind thawed a little, and green and gold flashed in his peripheral vision as he walked outside. He was so consumed in his thoughts, and the strange start to his day, that he failed to notice the shimmering, flickering, image of a certain flower peddler. She watched him afar, her smile slipping as she turned away.
You just need a better life than this. You need something I can never give.